Lights Out
by MyInnerWeirdo
Summary: If for any reason you think it's justified to go out in the dark at night, don't do it. Bonnibel Bubblegum can tell you every reason why. Rated for gore and eventual disturbing mind-sequences. AU.
1. Introduction

_**Introduction:**_

The voice came over the intercom, loud and cracking, echoing across the halls:

_"__The Disease & Mutation Research Centre will be closing in five minutes. Please clear out your work stations, locate your nearest Containment Guard, and be ready to vacate the premises. Have a safe evening."_

Bonnibel smeared her hands over her lab coat, wiping the green residue of the day's work from her fingers; it would really be nice if the Centre would put aside some of their money for rubber gloves, this barehanded bullshit was going to get the whole research team killed with the kind of stuff they were handling. She sighed and began loading her equipment into the plastic bin. Pliers, syringes, glass vials and beakers; that sort of thing. They were all stained green from years of use.

The gentle, rhythmic thrum of the ventilation fan calmed her frayed nerves. It didn't matter anymore, she told herself. It wasn't like anyone of her species could catch such a disease, anyway. She slipped the supplies into the drawer and proceeded to wipe down the work table with a damp cloth. She tossed the cloth into the trash when she was finished and left the room immediately. She didn't bother with the Containment Guard; she didn't need one to find her way home in the dark.

"You need a Guard with you," warned one of her supervisors as she pulled on her winter coat. She sighed. Just because she was capable of defending herself out there didn't mean they wouldn't try to force it on her. "It's for your safety."

"Safety isn't an issue."

When Bonnibel tried move through the door, the supervisor moved in front of her and blocked her path. She had a sour look on her face, her brows knitted together and her lips pressed thin in a deep scowl, "The streets are full of monsters during this hour," she said quietly, "I am not losing another of my best researchers to one of those _things._"

She slipped around the other woman easily, knowing she wouldn't actually force her to stop. This supervisor, Dr. Princess, knew Bonnibel was completely capable of defending herself out there. She knew about the gun she always kept concealed in a hidden pocket in her jacket; she knew about who she met up with at the alley a few blocks from the Centre.

But she always asked her, begged her sometimes, to bring a Guard with her. There was an incident about twelve years ago, long before Bonnibel started working here. It involved a researcher who was at the top of his field. During his life he had found cures for a lot of the mutations that had plagued the world at the time. Because this man seemed to be well practiced in hand-to-hand combat and even with firearms and melee weapons, he was free to roam as he pleased with or without a Containment Guard breathing down his neck.

Then, one day, a real nasty mutant had taken him. It was without warning, and it was gruesome. Bonnibel had been young at the time, sitting with her friend Marceline and Simon as they watched the news together. They showed everything, every detail about the mutilated body, as a warning to those who dared defy the law and travel alone.

Dr. Princess was pretty lenient with Bonnibel, though. She was aware how close she lived and who she often traveled with and, completely against her better judgment, she allowed her to go on her own almost every day. A Guard would have to go with her on some days, just so she could quell the woman's fears, but she would ditch the Guard quickly once she was out of sight of the Centre. She never liked them too much. They were strange, and stupid; some often tried to harass her sexually. Especially when she left the Centre with one.

"I'll be fine," she promised, smiling genuinely at Dr. Princess. "You don't have to worry about me. I've got friends in low places who can take care of me."

Her supervisor nodded, returning a forced smile at her. The reassurance wasn't enough for the woman, obviously, but it didn't matter to Bonnibel. She was leaving by herself whether she wanted her to or not.

She took the elevator down to the first floor. There wasn't anyone in the halls just yet so there was no one to stop her. It was commonly rumored that the elevators were not safe for transport between the floors anymore, but she had taken it several times and found nothing to be wrong with it. She really hated this place, with all of its unsanitary work ethics and false rumors alike.

The doors opened up next to the front entryway. The double doors were scratched up and covered in blackish red grime on the outside, courtesy of the things that came out only at night—the things that were more dangerous the ones that would occasionally be ignored by the Containment Guards during the day. She shouldered them open and walked down the slick stairs, careful to watch her step so she not to slip.

High up in the sky was the colors of red mixed with pink. It would soon turn black with the sun completely disappeared. Bonnibel walked at a brisk pace to beat the clock. Though she was well prepared to fight the creatures when they appeared after Lights Out, she would much prefer it if she did not have to.

Yipping and sounds of childish play began to echo from somewhere down the street. Without having to see who was there, Bonnibel knew who it was. It was the young boy, Finn Mertens, and his puppy Jake. She frowned as they came into view. They were far away from their home. Too far to avoid the Lights Out curfew and the monsters that came out during that hour.

"Hey, P-Bubs!" said the young boy as Bonnibel approached. "Me and Jake were about to go kick this guy's butt for harassing young ladies, like you! Do you wanna come with?"

Bonnibel smiled at the young boy. Jake hopped up onto his hind legs and started barking fondly at her; she reached down and scratched the puppy's ears and his little leg started quaking in response.

Her smile shifted into a slight frown as she said, "I'm sorry, Finn. But it's almost Lights Out. Why are you so far from home?"

A look of surprise came about Finn Mertens face, and he let out a tiny gasp, "Oh, schmoop!" he cried in his false-swear slang. "It's that late already? Ah, man, Mom's gonna be so steamed at me!" If Finn was scared of the monsters, he certainly didn't show it—obviously his mother was more fearsome than they were. With a sigh and a shake of her head, Bonnibel lifted the puppy up and cradled him in the crook of her arm.

"Why don't I walk you home? It'll be dark soon, and I'm sure your mother will appreciate an adult being with you instead of just coming back alone."

"You'd do that?" Finn giggled childishly and grinned like a dope. "Aw, that'd be totes awesome! Thanks, Peebles!"

The boy was only nine-years-old, so Bonnibel didn't say anything about his calling her things like "P-Bub" or "Peebles" or anything. Back in the day, when she used to babysit the lad, they'd play games where Finn was a knight and Bonnibel was a princess in distress. Princess Bubblegum was her title, and Finn would play the last human boy and the last hope she had to be free of her captor. He would keep shortening her title to such nicknames and they stuck that way even though they had stopped playing the make-believe game years ago.

His house was a fifteen minute walk away. Going there and back would put Bonnibel way off schedule and possibly get her locked out of her own apartment, but that would be fine so long as she could ensure her favorite knight and his noble mutt would live another day. They held hands on the way there, at Bonnibel's suggestion, because Finn tended to wander off or run after "potential threats" if no one kept any tabs on him. By the time they reached his mother's apartment building, it was five minutes before Lights Out began. Finn's mother stood at the door. Finn had gone up to bed with Jake.

"Miss Bubblegum, are you absolutely sure you can't stay the night here?"

"Absolutely," Bonnibel smiled sweetly at the woman, bowing her head slightly, "I'm meeting someone tonight. Don't worry; it's not the first time I've been out during the curfew. I'll be fine."

The woman's jaw set. Clearly she wasn't happy and really wanted to help, but saw no way that she could. Finally, she sighed, "Be careful…and thank you so much for bringing my son home."

"It's no problem at all, Mrs. Mertens." Bonnibel turned on her heel and glided down the front steps. The door shut and several deadbolts clicked behind her.

In reality, taking Finn home had caused every kind of problem, but none that Bonnibel wasn't familiar with. She worked with mutant/monster DNA for Pete's sake, and she had a gun to boot. Just because that one man died doesn't mean she would—if she ran fast enough.

By the time she was a third of the way to her apartment, a loud voice said over the speaker:

**"****LIGHTS OUT!"**

And suddenly, all the lights that had been on shut off; every glimmer of light from the houses surrounding her, the streetlamps, even solar powered garden lights shut off, and Bonnibel was cast into darkness. Not even the glow of the moon could help her now, the dark was so intense. She reached into her pocket and gripped the handle of the gun that was there, pulling the weapon out slowly in preparation.

Though there was nothing to be heard and no one to be seen, Bonnibel knew she wasn't alone on these streets anymore. She hasn't been alone since the lights were first killed just ten seconds ago. They were watching her; from rooftops, alleyways, the cracks in doors of the old and abandoned homes. It was what they liked to do before they made the killing blow—eying their meal like it was candy. Though that's what Bonnibel was in terms of species, a meal was something she didn't wish to be. She picked up her pace, speed walking but keeping herself from running.

To run during Lights Out meant certain death. It provoked them.

Her gun hand hung limply at her side. She wanted to display a nonviolent kind of body language even though she knew it wouldn't matter. The rhythmic _click, clack, click, clack_ of her heeled shoes were putting her a bit on edge in the deathly silence. Her finger was on the trigger, twitching just a little in anticipation as her eyes kept darting around, trying to see.

A light erupted from her pocket, followed by a loud '_ding!_' that made her flinch. It was her phone telling her she had a text message. Her heart stilled as she dug it from her pocket with her free hand.

It was from Marceline. She was the one Bonnibel was supposed to meet over twenty minutes ago. Bonnibel felt guilty because she hadn't thought of letting the vampire know where she was going to be, but at the time her only thought was getting Finn home before the curfew would begin.

_Where are you?_

Bonnibel was almost too afraid to reply. Just the light from her phone by itself could set off the monsters, or mutants or whatever they were. It was by some miracle that the texting tone didn't do anything. But Marceline was worried about her—what if she thought Bonnibel was dead? She could still be sitting in the meeting spot at the total mercy of those things. Even vampires had a hard time keeping safe during these times.

Who knows, maybe Marceline didn't stick around at all. Maybe she got tired of waiting and went back to the apartment just before Lights Out; Bonnibel wouldn't blame her.

Eventually she decided to reply anyway. She said that it was so dark she was having a difficult time properly navigating her way to the meeting place. Marceline replied back suggesting that she find somewhere to hide and that she would come to find her. It was easier said than done; but at least Bonnibel knew the vampire hadn't deserted her. She sent a text back saying she would try and stuck her phone into her pocket again.

She didn't know where to turn to. Everything that could be a hiding place to her was certainly the same for the mutants. Eventually Bonnibel turned into an alleyway without much thought about it. Inside, there was a different kind of darkness. The dark felt a bit more sinister in here than out there, but she did her best to ignore it. Holding her gun up, finger still on the trigger, Bonnibel knelt down behind some trash cans. It wasn't the best of hiding places, but the awful smell of garbage could possibly throw the creatures off. She would be safe for a little while.

Crouching in that position began to make her legs cramp up after a few minutes. For a while she tried to ignore it, not wanting to move for fear she would be noticed. Well, even more noticed. She was sure there was a few of them watching her from somewhere.

Something clattered from somewhere she couldn't see. Looking to her right, her eyes strained in attempt to see the cause of the noise. Footsteps echoed, coming slowly closer to her. Bonnibel's jaw set and she frowned deeply. She wanted to call out and see if it was just Marceline, and she almost did, but kept her mouth shut. The footfalls came closer, increasing in speed, and suddenly it was in her face.

Not Marceline. A mutant. Its lumpy, cancerous snout was so close to her forehead it almost touched her skin. Bonnibel froze in place, her breath locked within her lungs as she tried not to make any sound. It sniffed, its breath brushing harshly against her pink skin. Bonnibel swallowed dryly, the knot in her throat catching and nearly choking her. It was so close to her—too close. Her hand gripped tighter on her handgun, moving it so it was to where she thought it was pointing at it. She couldn't tell in this intense dark with the beast's disgusting breath on her face.

Her finger pressed the trigger slowly; her hand began shaking. In all probability the shot wouldn't kill it, just make it mad and certainly that would be the death of her. If the shot did kill it then the sound of the gunshot would alert the rest of them to her. She hadn't thought of that before…

Her lungs began to burn from holding her breath for so long. She felt slime from the creature's mouth ooze disgustingly onto her collarbone, and against her own will a powerful gasp ripped through her throat.

It roared, loudly, into her left ear. She shrieked right back, fumbling to press the barrel of the gun into its head. Bonnibel was panicking, and without meaning to she started firing into the creature's body. It wailed in pain, its voice a whooping howl. The bullets only proved to piss it off even more; it's slimy, bumpy claw grabbed onto her leg and flung her out of the alley. She landed, bouncing and rolling, into the road where the mutant immediately followed, slobbering and frothing at the maw.

Still fumbling, Bonnibel had managed to keep hold of her gun even during the toss. Her shoulder ached from the landing, but she managed to get the gun pointed at the silhouette she saw charging at her. Several shots rang out, each bullet ripping into the creature's thin, lumpy flesh. The gun kept firing, though Bonnibel couldn't remember squeezing the trigger so many times, until all she could hear were the clicks of an empty clip. Even then she kept trying, noises that were a mix between frightened gasps and screams as the mutant slowed and eventually keeled over as it reached her, its body collapsing on top of the terrified woman.

The weight of it was crushing her. She kicked her legs, moving her arms and trying to get out from beneath the giant mutant. "Get—get off me!" she gasped, kicking the dead body's chest and lifting it away. She rolled back and stood up, her legs wobbly and weak. "Oh, my…" she panted, her palm pressed flat against her chest. The slobber was still there, and she attempted fruitlessly to wipe it away. "That—that was…_awful!_"

She took a moment to compose herself. No more than three seconds, and then she turned to find a different hiding spot.

Dozens of red, blazing eyes met her gaze instead. Bonnibel froze, her shoulder's tense and her jaw clenching. They were surrounding her, all of them. Bonnibel swallowed, tears coming to her eyes as she realized just how much trouble she was in. Thinking about it now, maybe she should have stayed the night with Finn and his mom. Marceline was much more capable of handling herself in these kinds of situations, she would have been much more okay than what Bonnibel was about to be!

The monsters hissed, loud and piercing, and began to close in on her slowly. Bonnibel backed away, eyes growing wider by the second as her legs bumped the lumpy carcass. She stumbled and fell, the empty gun finally falling away from her hand and clattering across the pavement. When she regained herself, she blinked and saw one of the monsters crawling over the carcass as well, its fangs glinting though there wasn't any light.

As it neared her face Bonnibel pressed her hands over her eyes, as if doing so would make it go away. Her breath came in heavy spurts, her lungs shuddering with each inhale. The fangs grazed her neck, a long, rough tongue unraveling from its mouth and rasping grossly across her jugular, feeling the rapid pump of her pulse.

Whimpering pathetically, Bonnibel simply accepted her fate and prayed that her death would be quick. She knew that it wouldn't be, nor was she the religious type, but she prayed nevertheless. But her death didn't come quickly.

In fact, it didn't come at all.

Before the fangs sunk into her skin and the beast could suck her dry of blood, Bonnibel heard a small, metallic 'thunk!' on the ground next to her, followed by a loud 'bang!' and a blinding flash. She could see the light through her fingers and eyelids—it was very bright. The creatures around her began screeching in a terrible agony.

The weight of the screaming monster was lifted off of her, and a hand grasped the front of her shirt and she was pulled off the ground with surprising force. It felt like she was flying through the air again, except when she landed this time she somehow knew wouldn't be hurting. She grasped the hand holding her shirt; the movement it was putting her through was making her feel sick to her stomach.

Suddenly she was cast down onto something soft—a bed.

Her eyes opened finally, wide and peering helplessly into the dark. Metal shutters clanked shut and locked. Bonnibel opened her mouth to talk, but her lips were instantly held shut by a clammy palm.

"Shhh," whispered her savior, "It's Lights Out. That means no talking."

The dreaded weight of near-death was instantly lifted off her chest. She knew that voice; it was Marceline. She pushed the hand away and hugging the vampire. Marceline responded by returning the embrace, squeezing Bonnibel tight. She didn't say anything, the main reason being she couldn't talk during this hour. It was also because Marceline didn't like talking about death. Specifically the death of anyone she cared for.

Searching through the dark, Bonnibel found her pajamas and switched into them. She tossed her bloodied jacket and work uniform into a random corner to be disposed of later. She crawled into bed where the half-naked vampire was waiting for her. Her entire body still shook almost violently as she tried to grip the sheets and crawl beneath them. A steadying hand from her bedmate helped her to ease into the bed. She felt Marceline's arm snake tightly around her stomach and holding her close. Her buttock was pressed gently into the older woman's pelvis, the vampire's face tucked protectively into her neck. She could feel one of her fangs pressing lightly against the back of her neck as Marceline breathed lightly.

An hour from then they were both still awake, still not tired in the slightest. Outside the window, beyond the iron shutters, they could hear the blood thirsty monsters out there. Light scratching and metallic crunching made them both tense, though they knew they wouldn't break through. They never did. Something coated the iron shutters; it enchanted them so they would never break.

It was probably safe to say that neither woman got any sleep that night. Bonnibel's eyes shut several times but she couldn't tell if she slept at all. She had stopped shaking from her experience hours ago; she shifted in bed, turning to hug Marceline and to find a deeper comfort in her hold.

Finally, at some point, she must have fallen asleep. She figured as much because she had a strange dream. In the dream, she could hear shuffling, and footsteps padding slowly up to her side of the bed. It was silent after that, and she had visions of sunny fields, warm and harmonic, much in contrast to the bleak and dangerous city she lived in now. It was nice considering her earlier experience. Then something touched her neck gently; they were fingers, cold like ice. When she woke, startled into consciousness by the cold touch, whoever had done it wasn't there.

Figuring it to be just part of her dream, she shuffled further into Marceline's embrace. The undead body had absorbed Bonnibel's warmth during the night, and snuggling had become very comfortable at this point. Putting the strange events of her dream out her mind, Bonnibel fell back asleep.

When the bedroom lights came on automatically a few hours later, Bonnibel cringed and sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She felt dreadfully tired. Her legs swung over the bed and her feet pressed into the shaggy carpet. What she felt there made her shriek and pull her legs back up onto the bed in a mad haste.

"What!?" Marceline cried, instantly awake and scrambling to the other side of the bed, where Bonnibel was. "What, what's going on?"

Bonnibel was speechless, her jaw and mouth trembling furiously as she looked at the black footprints imprinted into the brown carpet, leading from her closet to her side of the bed. By looking at how dark the impressions by her bed were, Bonnibel realized with a terrible lurch in her heart that whoever was standing had been there for a very long time.


	2. Out From Under Your Feet

**_Chapter 1: Out From Under Your Feet_**

"I want you to stay in bed for now," Marceline reached over and plucked the thermometer out of Bonnibel's mouth and checked it. A disapproving sigh blew past her lips. "I don't care what your supervisors say; you can miss a few days of work to let your fever break."

Bonnibel whined through her tight lips, pressed together as she tried to fight away a fierce headache. Her entire body felt numb, and she couldn't even move herself into a more comfortable position, or reach out to the vampire who was literally only inches away from her. She tried, but the lack of feeling in her arm made her stomach more upset than it already was. "Marcie—" she croaked, "You're staying, aren't you?"

There was a large amount of sweat dripping down her brow. Through her blurry vision she could see the blobby form of Marceline looking down at her, her blurry face cast in shadow by the ceiling light above her. There was a long pause, like Marceline was thinking about it. "Yeah. I don't have anything that needs doing today; I'll stay with you." Her words were hesitant, as if she had somewhere else to be despite what she said, but Bonnibel was too sick to notice.

Marceline peeled back the covers and settled into bed once more. As quickly as she could manage, Bonnibel curled up against her, whimpering slightly as the movement caused a painful throb to intensify in her head. The vampire's arm slid comfortably around her. "Try to get some sleep." The hand of the embracing arm went up and gently rubbed its palm on her forehead, feeling the slick sweat. "Later I'll see if I can get you some soup or something."

She nodded numbly into Marceline's collarbone, slowly drifting in and out of sleep. Her ear was pressed above where she was supposed to hear a heartbeat, but the vampire's chest was as soundless as it was cold. With her fever-heated skin, the cool, undead body felt nice, and Bonnibel was pleased to know another reason why it was good to have a vampire as a soul-mate.

Her eyes cracked open a bit, fingers tightening into the soft fabric of Marceline's tank top. Light pored through the slits between her eyelids as she peered through the small openings. She wasn't looking directly at the source of the light, but it still made her headache at least ten times worse. She groaned, turning her face into Marceline's chest to block it out. In response, the vampire began to gently stroke her hair to sooth her.

Eventually, Bonnibel fell asleep. It was nice and restful, despite waking up several times to the sounds of metallic scraping. She must have been sleeping all day and was now currently trying to sleep through Lights Out. She figured that because when she opened her eyes, the room was dark. Luckily, she could still feel the vampire held tightly in her arms so the initial freak-out of suddenly transitioning from a well-lit room to the very same room but pitch dark wasn't all that bad.

Her ear was pressed against the boney chest of the vampire. Within that chest, Bonnibel could hear the soft _thump, thump, thump_ of a faint heartbeat. It soothed her a bit, and her eyes began to feel heavy once more. Just as she was about to fall asleep again, Bonnibel suddenly became aware of something she probably should have remembered a long time ago.

Marceline was a vampire.

Vampires don't have heartbeats.

Ripped from the throes of sleep, Bonnibel sat up and looked around the room. A completely futile effort on her part; the room was too dark to even make out her own hand if it were an inch in front of her face. The sudden movement of it didn't help either, because now Bonnibel felt completely sick to her stomach. She had forgotten she was incredibly ill—she fell backwards into a pair of open hands.

"Easy!" the voice hissed, her voice low but loud at the same time, "What's wrong?"

Bonnibel fumbled with her words, "I—I thought I heard something…like a heartbeat. O-or footsteps." She answered as truthfully as possible. When finding out that the rhythmic noise hadn't been coming from Marceline she had gotten scared, thinking maybe it was possibly footsteps she was hearing instead. It then, and only just then, occurred to her that maybe it was her own heartbeat thumping in her ear that she had heard.

"You're still real feverish," Marceline said quietly, dragging a knuckle down a peek cheek, "You must have been having delusions or something. Lay down, I'll get you some water."

Bonnibel did as told. She wanted to say something and remind Marceline that no one was allowed out of bed during Lights Out, but the words didn't come out fast enough before the woman was out of the room.

It wasn't like Marceline would have listened to her anyway.

Groaning from her spot on the bed, Bonnibel tried to ignore the aches and pains that were slowly settling into her bones and muscles. One of the special perks of being sick: you were in pain quite often.

After a while waiting and no return of the vampire with the promised water, Bonnibel grew impatient. Slowly sitting up again, she growled quietly into the dark at the small but intense throbbing in her head the movement caused. She swung her legs over the bed and stood up, reaching out into the dense blackness and grasping the doorframe.

"Marceline?" she croaked, her voice lower than a whisper. The vampire had crazy powerful hearing; she'd be able to hear Bonnibel's pathetic words. "Where'd you go?" Gently placing one foot in front of the other, and trying not to step on any loose boards, Bonnibel felt her way into the kitchen area. It was deathly silent the whole way there, which was strange. Silent nights were rare, and while they have happened before, it was making Bonnibel feel very uneasy.

By the time she had reached the fridge and no answer had come to her calls, a small sinking feeling that had been forming in the pit of her stomach since Marceline had left suddenly became instantly worse. In the crushing darkness and sickening silence about her, she didn't dare try to speak again. It may cause some kind of chain reaction or something.

Her palms were pressed flat against the refrigerator door, trying to keep herself balanced as her knees wobbled uncontrollably. She shouldn't have gotten up—but where in the hell did Marceline go?

A loud bang made Bonnibel jump, losing her balance and hitting her rump against the floor. As she tried to regain herself, the faint noise of shrieking metal, followed by the distinct smell of smoke and fire, hit her just as suddenly as the banging. Eventually, as she managed to sit up, she came to realize that the noises had come from the bedroom.

It took some more moments before she remembered that the bedroom was where the iron window was.

Crawling on her hands and knees was all she could do without suffering a massive dizzy-spell. Panting, she shimmied over to the bedroom. Finding it in the dark was fairly easier than it was before—because the darkness wasn't so dark anymore.

The smell of smoke and fire had been just that—smoke and fire. An orangey red glow illuminated the doorway to the bedroom. Though she knew better, Bonnibel found herself crawling towards it.

"Marceline."

Coughing as smoke clouded her already raspy throat, Bonnibel cried out for the vampire. Her lungs were burning already, and as she clawed her way towards the orange glow, she could feel the heat of the flames intensifying.

"Marce...Marceline!"

She finally managed to get into the bedroom again. She looked at the fire, burning just below the window, the iron shutters torn wide open by an unknown force. She stared, in awe, at the outside world beyond the smoke and flames.

"Oh…oh, god," she whimpered pathetically, realizing her danger. "Oh, god!" She covered her mouth and started hacking, the smoke and her sickness together too much for her lungs to bear. She began to hyperventilate.

Then, unable to catch her breath, she collapsed onto the floor.

She woke up in an entirely different place than when she passed out. She didn't know where she was—it was all just black. It was different from the previous black, too…somehow she was able to register that she wasn't in her bedroom anymore—that she wasn't even in her apartment anymore.

No…now she was in the Research Centre.

Inside her own lab.

"W—what?" she sat up, holding her head. A headache still throbbed dully, the pain intensifying then numbing itself every few seconds. She groaned and stood up, using the lab table as leverage. "Hello?"

Her voice was so low and weak it didn't even echo. Pathetic.

Coughing lightly into her fist, Bonnibel was happy that at least she was away from the smoke. The metal of the lab table was slightly warm to the touch, strange because it hadn't been used for the past day because Bonnibel had been home sick. No one else was allowed to work in this lab but her, hence why she had labeled it as _her_ lab. She didn't dwell on that though; mostly she dwelled on how she had gotten here.

Where was Marceline, anyway? Where had she gone?

Bonnibel steadied herself, taking a few moments to breathe deeply, and then pushed herself away from the table. The first few steps she staggered quite visibly, almost falling, but she caught herself in time. Slowly she walked over to the door leading out—it was wide open, and on the handle was a distinct mark of a pitch-black handprint. She paid it no mind, wanting to only get out of this place before the monsters or the mutants found her.

Come to think of it, maybe it was safer in the Centre than out there. Even while sick, the diseases in this Centre could do nothing to her because they lacked the claws and teeth needed to disembowel her.

Perhaps staying at least until Lights Out was over would be the best option. But what could she do until morning? Sleep wasn't recommended, now that she was afraid she'd wake up in another place again.

She wandered over to the elevator, concluding that up was the best direction to go at this point. Even if the monsters and mutants had somehow gotten into the building, the only way in besides the enchanted doors was an unknown passage way that led into the basement. As a general rule the basement was off limits even during the day. So up it was.

With a mighty shriek of metal, the elevator came down and opened. Swaggering lightly on her feet, still afflicted by her fever, Bonnibel stumbled in and hit the button for the highest floor—two-hundred-and-eighteen. Then she slumped back against the wall, sighing tiredly. Vague images started flashing through her mind, all considering and wondering how or why she was here. It was all so very strange…one moment she was mistaking heartbeats for footsteps, and now she had somehow managed to make it inside of her workplace simply by passing out because of a fire.

Where the hell had Marceline gone, and wasn't she supposed to bring her water? Bonnibel licked her lips, really craving a cool glass of water about now. The fever was making her sweat, and all this sweating was making her terribly thirsty.

The elevator jolted suddenly, and Bonnibel gasped and held tightly onto the railing. It stopped moving when she hit the twenty-third floor—her lab was on thirteen. Only ten floors…Gripping the railing, she swallowed. The elevator groaned, and Bonnibel could hear sounds of cords starting to snap from above her.

She felt the ground lurch down beneath her, tilting heavily to one side, and she stumbled over to the wall across from her, thrown off balance by the sudden leaning. Her back hit the wall just as the sickening sound of another cord breaking erupted, and she didn't have time to scream as the elevator was sent packing all the way down, letting out its own metallic screams as it fell into the basement level with a loud crash at it hit the bottom.


	3. The Scuttler Queen

_Chapter 2: The Scuttler Queen_

Bonnibel was very displeased that the elevator chose tonight to prove those rumors about it to be true.

The fall wasn't all that terrible, actually. At least she lived, and without any serious injuries to boot. Crawling through the dust and out into the hallway—the elevator doors had been mangled horribly, allowing her to crawl through the bottom easily—and found that the halls were lit up brilliantly. They were also gloriously empty at the moment, allowing Bonnibel to catch her breath before anything, if there was anything, could come after her.

She pressed her back against the wall, leaning forward slightly and laying her head on her knees. Small coughing fits tore through her chest as she tried hard to catch her breath, making the task even more difficult.

"Ugh," she groaned as she pushed herself up, still pressed against the wall for support. Her knees trembled as she tried to walk, but she couldn't tell if it was because she was shaken from the accident or because she still had a high fever. She pushed herself forward along the wall.

Upon reaching the door at the end of the hallway, she found it to be locked. She jiggled the knob, hoping the lock would be as faulty as the elevator cables. No such luck, it wouldn't budge. She whined shortly in her throat and turned around to find another door.

There were at least five other doors in the hallway. All but one were locked, and that one led into the janitor's closet. Why was the janitor's closet in the basement of an over-two-hundred story building? Bonnibel hadn't a clue. It was fairly small, only big enough to store the mop & bucket, and what appeared to be an old, moldy duffel bag that had the most horrid stench coming from it—it was like raw chicken and garbage that had been out in the sun for weeks. And then a mutated skunk laid eggs in it.

There was a wooden board nailed crudely to a wall to act as a shelf. It wasn't a very good one, either, it was dipping very heavily to one side and appeared as if it were about to fall off. But sitting atop the would-be shelf was something that made Bonnibel smile for the first time tonight.

It was a crowbar.

Immediately, she thought that this would be the answer to her locked door problem. Most notably it was the answer to the problem on the very end of the hall, where she was sure the door would help her find her way back up the building. She lightly jogged back to the door, the crowbar clutched tight in both hands, and stuck the straight end into the gap between the doorframe and the door. She gave it a firm tug, and with a soft 'CRACK' the wooden door cracked and opened.

A cold breeze wafted through the door and cut through her thin pajamas, and she shivered. Clutching the crowbar tighter, she ventured forward.

As predicted, the door _did_ lead to a way out of the basement. There was a large spiral staircase in the middle of the room. A good section of it had been torn clean off and was lying in a heap on the floor, and it was far too high for Bonnibel to reach without a ladder or another means of ascension.

She huffed. Grod sure hated her this week.

Kicking at the ground only served to kick up a thin layer of dust that had been accumulating for the many years since the basement had been abandoned. She gagged on it, coughing, before managing to clear her airways that were already burning because of sickness and then went to find a ladder.

Luckily she had two other unopened doors on either side of the room at her disposal, plus the other doors left un-pried in the hallway so at least she was left with options. She went with the door on the left end of the Spiral-Staircase Room. Much to her surprise, and delight, this door was unlocked. The knob twisted and she pushed, and it opened effortlessly into a room of blackness.

She felt a trail of what she thought to be snot trail from her nose and down her chin. Frustrated, she swiped it away with her shirt sleeve before continuing on.

Her hand felt along the wall next to the doorway, searching for a light-switch. There was none. She huffed and moved forward anyway, unwilling to let a bit of darkness hamper her abilities to make it out of this mess. As she ventured toward the center of the room, something dangling from the ceiling hit her in the face. She sputtered, swatting it away out of reflex. It was a thin chain. She grabbed it and tugged, and with a click a light came on and illuminated the room.

A deep shudder tore through her, along with a chilling stab of fear as her free hand went up to cover her mouth and keep herself from screaming. Her eyes widened, and she took a step back as her breath froze in her throat.

A mutant was sleeping on a pile of crates on the other side of the room.

She didn't know they could sleep, or that they _had_ to sleep…but she was thankful the light switching on hadn't woken it.

It was fairly small. Tiny white hairs were sprouting out of its back, and they bristled as the creature breathed. But the rest of the body was black; its arms were thin, lanky, noodle-like, and they curled up on themselves as they hung off the sides of the crates and brushed the ground.

Bonnibel backed up slowly, lifting up the crowbar into a swinging position in case she really needed it, and exited the room. She closed the door softly behind her. A breath she had been holding, not for very long thankfully, escaped her lips in a calming sigh.

"Okay," she said softly to herself, "So—there _are_ monsters in the basement level. I guess this is what I get for thinking this entire process would be easy." More snot trails were leaking out onto her face, and furiously she swiped it away, spinning around and going to the opposite side of the room. There was a door over there as well; this one was already wide open—its door had been torn off the hinges and cast aside, it was currently lying in a heap of scrap metal next to the ruined portion of the staircase. Claw marks cut into the concrete trailed inside, as if one of the mutants themselves had been forcibly dragged into the darkened room.

She wondered if it would be smart to even think about going inside.

Eventually she concluded that it didn't matter if the idea was stupid or not; she needed out of this basement, and it was possible this room, wherever it would lead her, held the tools she needed to do it. She took a deep breath, and started to approach the doorway. Before her first step could hit the ground, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of dizziness. Her vision grew hazy and dark, and when the darkness subsided, she realized she was staring at the ceiling.

She groaned. The same warm wet feeling dripping from her nose and down her cheek irritated her, and again she wiped it away.

Being in this situation and being sick with a fever at the same time definitely was not ideal. The back of her head ached; she must have hit it hard on the ground when she fell. She sat up slowly, and realized that a lot of things were different. She wasn't just in front of the doorway like she had been. Now she was inside the darkened room, and all around her she could smell the dank scent of death. Her nightshirt, she noticed, had been bunched up and pressed uncomfortably against the middle of her back. She reached back and un-bunched her shirt, allowing it to fall comfortably back down the rest of her torso.

Carefully she stood up, arms out to her side to keep herself balanced. She wobbled a bit, still a little dizzy, but managed to stay on her feet this time.

The only source of light was coming from the doorway, from the room where she had just been. Turning around, she saw her crowbar lying abandoned a few feet from the doorway. Sighing, she turned on her heel and went to pick it up again.

Suddenly, Bonnibel was overcome with an unspeakable feeling of dread and fear. Her steps faltered, for just a moment, but a moment was all it took to happen.

The door slammed shut. Bonnibel jumped away, yelping in fear. Suddenly cast into complete darkness, Bonnibel's heart sunk deep when she realized that she was not alone in this room. Her body froze up, eyes wide and searching, trying to pick out any movements in the blinding dark.

_But there wasn't a door…_ she realized, _how could the door just slam shut like that if there wasn't a door to begin with!?_ The logic of it just betrayed her. She backed up, afraid that whatever produced the door had just trapped her, and was now slowly approaching her—presumably to kill her.

Something scuttled along the floor and brushed past her bare feet. It was cold and slimy, and Bonnibel could feel loose scales rubbing and cutting against her skin. By natural reaction alone, she kicked her foot violently, sending whatever was touching her flying and splat'ing against a wall.

Whatever it was let out a pitiful, pained cry. Something began to glow a faint but disgusting shade of yellow. It was a splatter mark on the wall, and in the center was a large thing and, as the glow got brighter, it began to resemble something close to the resulting offspring if a slug bred with a centipede.

She knew what it was. The people here at the Centre referred to them as Scuttlers. They appeared to be some form of mutant cockroach, and they were an even worse nuisance than that. Every so often lab equipment would turn up missing or destroyed, and everyone knew that it was the fault of these creatures. The surveillance cameras were proof enough of that.

Bonnibel's brow scrunched together and she covered her nose as the stench of the room intensified with the death of the small creature. Unfortunately, the smell did not come unaccompanied. It also came with sound; the sound of even more scuttling, similar to the one from seconds before, but now it sounded like there was more than just one.

Something crawled up the sleeve of her night pants. Startled, she yelped and started kicking that leg. Several more of the creepy-crawlers took that chance to latch onto her grounded leg. That other bug she had killed was obviously a relative, and this was them seeking revenge.

They crawled from her pants into her shirt, clawing and gnawing at her skin. Bonnibel swatted angrily at the bulges squirming about beneath her shirt, hearing them cry out in pain, just as she did as their blood seeped from the cracks in their fragile exoskeletons and onto her flesh. Their blood was acidic. It started to burn through her favorite nightshirt and in her panic to preserve it she reached up and pulled it over her head.

The Scuttlers fell off as the shirt left her. They landed on their backs, legs squirming and trying to find solid ground. The shirt was clutched tightly in her fist and she panted heavily, glaring down at the glowing, bloody husks.

The remaining ones, who hadn't crawled onto her or landed back-first onto the floor, scurried away quickly as if they were running from something. Bonnibel smiled triumphantly, thinking it was herself and her giant stature (compared to the Scuttlers) that scared them off.

As for the ones still struggling on their backs—as much as Bonnie would love to crush them beneath their feet as an act of her own revenge, she was barefoot and didn't want any severe burns on her feet to go with the ones all over her torso. This reminded her—she was also braless. Taking the shirt and examining it in the dull glow of Scuttler blood, she found the holes to be few and small, so, very much satisfied, she slipped it back on.

She noticed, then, that something much bigger than the Scuttlers was with her in the room right now. She noticed it because she could feel it breathing down her neck, making the hair there stand up on end. A feeling of trepidation washed over her, but nevertheless she turned to look.

Luckily—or unluckily—she couldn't see it completely even in the small glow of blood. It was too dark. But she could still see its outline. It was massive, looming over her easily like a tower, only halted by the ceiling just ten-feet above. Its body curled to fit inside the room. Limbs, thin and ending in sharp points, jutted out of its sides and flailed as a keening mantis-like noise hissed from its mandibles.

Bonnibel swallowed audibly. If the Scuttlers weren't pissed off that she'd killed one of their kin—several of them now—then their Queen certainly was.

Its mandibles opened wide, showing several rows of teeth, illuminated by the Scuttler blood. The Queen lunged its face at her, taking a chomp at her. It moved so slow that Bonnibel, ever weak with her fever, was able to dodge easily. She backed up against the wall, trying to think of a way to get out of the room.

_The_ _door_.

Had the Queen been the one to put it back in place? How had she done it; not well, probably, and maybe just one good push with the shoulder would be enough to knock it out of the frame. She looked in the direction of the door; she could see light spilling through the cracks—dim, but still there.

She decided to go for it. As the Queen lunged again at her, she dodged, staggering towards the door. She tripped over the Queen's tail. Her chest hit the floor first, knocking all the wind from her lungs. Coughing, she tried to get up again, but the Queen head-butted her and forced her down again. A leg, mangled but also longer than all the others, curled around her and started to drag her closer to the Queen's body. Feeling weak, Bonnibel tried to fight back but realized that there wasn't anything she could do at this point.

But, miraculously, something did another thing for her, and she lived.

An unexpected shriek of agony tore through the Queen's mandibles, and Bonnibel felt the mangled limb leave her. The large Scuttler shied away, still crying out in pain, and eventually Bonnie couldn't hear it anymore. When she had recovered enough strength, she looked up and she knew that she was now alone in this room.

The Scuttler Queen had vanished. Somehow.

Bonnibel didn't question why. She just was happy that, for whatever reason, it had spared her.

The door, as she expected, wasn't held into the frame very well. It fell and smacked loudly against the ground without warning. She stared for a moment, stunned by the suddenness of it, but became even happier. Finally! She could leave this horrid room.

At first she crawled, on hands and knees, to the door. She hadn't the strength in her to stand, but once she reached the doorway she was able to stagger up onto her feet again. But even though she felt happy to be in a brightly lit room, there was something off about it. The room was spinning, and she was holding onto the doorframe to keep herself steady. Her vision cleared, and she saw it.

Crates. A stack of crates leading up like a staircase to meet the gnarled end of the spiral one. Bonnibel blinked, seeing if her vision needed to clear more and make the stack of crates, which were obviously a hallucination of sorts, go away. But they didn't. They were not a hallucination, they were truly there. But how? Perhaps the same reason the door slammed shut when said door had previously been crumpled up and lying several feet away.

Some things, no matter how normal they seemed, just couldn't be explained, and Bonnibel actually preferred like that for once in her life. All she cared about now was getting out of here.

Slowly, she climbed up onto the first crate. It was about waist high—it shouldn't have been too much trouble, but as reiterated several times before, Bonnibel was sick and feverish. It took all she had not to wobble off to the side and fall down from the crates as she slowly made her way to the top. Sitting at the first unbroken step of the actual staircase was her crowbar. Not thinking too hard about how it got there, she grabbed it immediately, glad to have it back.

The Scuttler Queen wasn't dead. If she were to run into it again, the crowbar would be her only lifeline.

Bonnibel stood, grasping the railing. She looked upward to see how far up she'd have to climb—she couldn't see where it ended, it went so far up, and she whimpered pitifully. She wobbled forward, ready to start the long, winding journey. But yet another noise made her stop—but it wasn't the Scuttlers. Footsteps—heavy, slow moving, genuine footsteps. Though the sound came from above her, Bonnibel looked down, feeling that she had to so she could understand.

There were black footprints. A horrible chill shuddered down her spine. She thought instantly back to several mornings ago. When she had found those same markings standing, facing her side of the bed.

They were leading up and marking every single step that she could see, traveling upward. As her eyes moved upward, she caught a glimpse of who might have been the tracker. Long, wavy black hair going in every direction, but somehow still moving gracefully, and shining beautifully, and the owner of said hair was moving slowly up the stairs. Very slowly.

Stunned, Bonnibel muttered weakly,

"M-Marceline…?"

A small wave of relief washed over her then; it was quickly replaced by a large, growing feeling of happiness. Suddenly she wasn't thinking about how weak or sick she was anymore. She started running, as fast as she could, to catch up with the vampire. Bonnibel didn't care why or how Marceline had gotten into the Centre, she was just happy to see such a familiar face. Hopefully, Marceline would have answers, hopefully she knew how they had ended up locked in the Centre or, most importantly, why she had just suddenly disappeared out of their apartment.

But she would never get the chance to ask.

Because Marceline wasn't the one who made the black footprints.


End file.
